The Pupil's Religion
by Morbid724
Summary: Rating: Just to be on the safe side. A special new, young agent helps Clarice with the ACTIVE Lecter case.


The Pupil's Religion

            By Morbid

            Disclaimer:  Clarice Starling, Hannibal Lecter, and any other familiar characters you might see, do not belong to me.  They are sole property of Thomas Harris… you could say I "half own" one of them, actually.  Other little people I might control--I mean _own _completely. MWAHAHAHA.  Please don't sue me…or take my caffeine.  No wise fellow would suggest you do that. Something very nasty might happen to you…Bon Appetite!

P.S. This is dedicated to Spam, The Coke Mahstah, Tikk, and my partner in crime, Miz. Fish.  They all know the true meaning of _Madness_.  :D  Oh yes, and to Holly and Kurt who were nice enough to spare Joshie.

            The first rays of bright autumn sunlight tumble into Clarice Starling's bedroom and onto her sleeping face.  Her hair lies like fire spread out on the white cotton pillow. The alarm clock's green calculator shaped numerals change from 5:59A.M. to 6:00 A.M.  It buzzes with pauses annoyingly at Clarice.  _EH, EH, EH, EH, EH, EH._ Clarice does not hit the snooze button, as much as she would like to.  She aims blindly with her eyes closed for the off button.  She turns into an up right sitting position, pulling herself out from underneath the large, fluffy gray comforter, and waits for her eyes to open themselves.  They feel like bricks are weighing them down.

            She slides off the bed, and walks sleepily into her bathroom.  She brushes her teeth and hair takes a shower before getting dressed in a dark gray turtleneck and black pants.

            She walks down the stairs, supporting herself on the banister, through the living room and foyer, into the kitchen where Ardelia is eating breakfast already.  A vase of daffodils a recent boyfriend of Ardelia's had given her sat on the table.  The bacon smells delicious and Ardelia has already fixed her a plate.  "Ardelia, I don't know what I'd do without you." 

            Ardelia turned and smiled at Clarice, which would be annoying to someone who wasn't used to seeing her bright and up in the morning when they're not, "Morning, Claire."

            "Coffee ready?"

            "Mmm-hmm," Ardelia said, taking a sip from her own coffee mug, not really looking at Clarice.  Clarice walked to the counter, poured her coffee from the percolator and took her coffee black.  She joined Ardelia at the table at her place setting.

            Ardelia had tried to be funny by arranging her bacon and eggs and toast a smiling face.  "Very creative."  Starling grinned.

            "Yes, I am, aren't I?"  She grinned proudly.  "Hey, you know what, why don't you come down to Greg's house for the party tonight?"  Ardelia asked over her coffee, trying to seem casual.  Clarice's smile faded and she hesitated.  "Oh Clarice, c'mon, please?"

            "Ardelia, I might have to work late--"

            Ardelia's brow furrowed.  How many times had she suggested Clarice do something besides work?  "You need to get more fun out of life, you know."  Her words both touched her and left a sinking feeling in Clarice's stomach.  

            It had been two years since the Chesapeake.  How fitting that Hannibal Lecter returned to the place he murdered all those people so long ago, to have dinner with her and to kill Paul Krendler for her.  Clarice Starling didn't _feel_ extraordinarily special, though.

            Starling had been reinstated after she had been cleared from the charges of assisting a known criminal after she had been found drugged, laying on the bank of the Chesapeake Bay.  It didn't _feel_ that she had been reinstated, although she had a lot of work, still, people would never fully trust her anymore.  Part of the sense that the lambs could trust her to guard them was gone, and that part of her, she felt she was missing.  Just like the man that had stolen it. No hide or hair from Dr. Lecter. He'd simply vanished.  It wasn't that a part of her _heart_ that was missing, that would be misleading; just her sense of duty.  The job would _never_ be done for her now.  If Hannibal Lecter had been trying to help, he sure as heck didn't.  

            Clarice sighed.  "I don't know if I can Ardelia."__

            Ardelia sighed with frustration, but instead of staying annoyed, she lightened.  She always recovered quickly. "Alright, Clarice.  Just…think about it okay?"  She returned to her coffee and breakfast.

            "Sure."  

            They made pleasant, simple conversation for the next fifteen minutes as Clarice gobbled down her bacon and eggs, thanking Ardelia enthusiastically.  Ardelia left for work and Clarice decided she should do the same.

            Just as she had grabbed the keys to her mustang, the phone rang.  Always cautious on the phone, Clarice had installed caller I.D.  But when she checked, it was not some serial killer with an unidentified number; it simply read 'J. Crawford'.  

            "Starling."  She answered briskly.

            "Starling," Crawford's cloaked voice remained calm, but there was a tint of fear and excitement there.  Clarice could sense it -- almost as if Crawford was waiting in line for a roller coaster.  She had learned to, after working with him for the past years.  

            "I need you to come down to Baltimore, we found a body…" His voice trailed off.

            "A body, sir?"  She asked calmly.

            "Yes," He read her off an address.  "I need you to come down…immediately."

            Clarice pondered,  "Alright, sir…what's this about?"

            "I'll explain when you get here."

            "That doesn't really give me much to go by."  She gave him an annoyed tone and suddenly regretted it.  

            "I don't have all the information myself, Starling.  It's a mess here."  He sounded distracted.  Her mouth quirked as she pondered what this was about. 

            "Alright, sir.  I'll…be there as soon as possible."  She hung up.  Well _that _was awkward.  She tightened her grip on her keys.  She walked out the door, being careful to lock it.  _A body?_  She thought as she got into her car.

            That wasn't abnormal.  She'd had to deal with seeing victims all the time.  But Crawford's voice had been…different.

            It took about forty-five minutes to get from Arlington to the apartment building in Baltimore.  Clarice got out of the car calmly.  It was a peasant building, in the more quiet and rural area of the city.  A big brick looming structure.  There were several police cars in the parking lot, Clarice noted.

            Clarice entered the building and found Crawford waiting for her inside.  Several policemen also stood around a water fountain in the dull lobby.  Locals mostly, but there were several men in black suits that worked in Behavioral Sciences that Starling recognized.  This pulled at her attention for a moment.  It looked like the whole _unit_ was here.

            Crawford looked tired, uncomfortable, and older than usual.  Starling found herself thinking of a tired mad scientist in a business suit.  They were her bags under his eyes and they seemed to darken with weariness when Clarice walked in.

            A woman stood next to him.  This surprised Clarice, and she didn't recognize the woman at first.  She was young.  She had blonde hair that was pulled back into a neat ponytail.  She wore black wire framed glasses that made her look geeky.  Clarice thought that if the woman hugged textbooks to her chest she'd look like the intellectual schoolgirl from high school.  She wore black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt.

            Then it hit Clarice:  she knew this girl.  Fresh out of the academy.  Shelby Hobbs.  Clarice Starling, who had tried out teaching at the academy for two years after what was known as the 'Chesapeake Dinner Party' where Paul Krendler met his demise, had taught the girl.  She had been an excellent student, and Clarice had given her top marks.  Clarice wondered what she was doing here.

            The girl's face displayed nothing.  

            "Clarice."  Crawford said, almost emotionlessly.

            "Mr. Crawford," She nodded in respect.  "What's going on?"

            "We found…a body."  He glanced at the woman beside him.  "This is Agent--"

            "Hobbs.  I know, sir."  Clarice explained. "I taught you while you were in the academy."  She smiled briefly at her.

            Shelby smiled weakly.  "Agent Starling.  It's good to see you again.  I suppose we'll be working together."  She held out her hand.

            Clarice smiled and took it.

            "Now then, you've got a body?"

            Crawford sighed heavily and looked sadly at the floor.  "Yes," He studied both Starling and Shelby uncomfortably.  "And we also believe…we believe Dr. Lecter had something to do with it."

            Clarice blinked confusedly.  Shelby tilted her head at Crawford.  "What makes you think that, sir?"  Starling figured she had probably gotten here just a short while before herself, and hadn't seen the scene yet.

            Crawford took a long breath.  "It's a pretty organized crime scene.  And…not many people would do this to Will Graham."

            Shelby breathed in sharply.  Had she heard him right?  _Will _Graham? She blinked back tears.  Will Graham had saved her when she was a kid, from her father, Garrett Hobbs.

            _Shelby Hobbs' father was a murderer.  When she was nine years old, her father and mother started screaming at each other one day.  She had been awfully worried about her father.  He looked tired and sad all the time and he was never at home in the evenings.  She remembered hiding in her room and hearing her mothers screams echoing though the apartment.  She remembered having her mother tell her to hide.  She had been gasping, her clothes had been bloody and she had been stabbed so many times…Shelby remembered her saying "Get away from Daddy, sweetie."  As she was stabbed the third time.  _

_            Janet Hobb's had known something was not right with her husband.  He had threatened to kill their daughter and herself if she ever told anybody that late a night her husband came home with stained red clothes.  The same clothes that she would have to wash the next day. _

_            So Shelby had done so, and hid.  She hid in her closet until he father broke in the locked door.  She remembered being terrified and looking around to see any windows or hiding places.  She remembered her daddy having to breaking though the door with a fire axe._

_            She remembered being grabbed by her hair and pulled into the living room.  She remembered sobbing and kicking and screaming.  And feeling dizzy and lightheaded at seeing her own blood staining the carpet. He father caught her by the throat and took a knife to her. Cutting her._

_            Then, by some miracle being saved by a man in a police uniform.  He shot her daddy and saved her.  She remembered being taken out of the apartment the back way so she wouldn't see her mommy, dead on the stairs.  She remembered having to go to the hospital to see the angel.  _

_            But it wasn't the kind of hospital Shelby had been sent to, to fix her throat.  It was a mental hospital.  She remembered giving the man a hug and both of them crying.  She could not remember what was said in they're conversations.  She remembered how she couldn't bring herself to call her father 'daddy' ever again; she would always refer to him as Garrett Hobbs.  Her father, the monster._

_            This 'angel' would go on to catch Dr. Hannibal Lecter._

            Shelby shook her head.  _Will Graham._  Clarice stood there.  Her eyes widened.  She swallowed.  She felt she needed to sit down.

            Crawford observed them closely.  He bit his lip.  "Are you going to be okay working on this case?"  Starling realized the question was meant for both of them.

Clarice's heart was fluttering.  Dr. Lecter was in the country.  He was in the area.  There were chairs in the lobby and she sunk into one.  Her hands moved up to her face and she rubbed her temples, urging the voice in her brain to go away.  _Officer Starling…_  It wouldn't.

            Shelby put her back of her wrist against her mouth and swallowed.  She nodded quietly and said, "I'll be okay."

            Crawford patted her on the shoulder.  "Good."  He sank into the lobby chair next to Clarice's, and leaned closer to her.  "I need good profilers on this case.  Are you game, Clarice?"

            _Game?!  I am in no fucking mood to be referred to as a predator's prey._  

            She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and breathed out.  As much as she didn't want to go back on an _active_ Lecter case, for self-obvious reasons.  But this was her job, was it not?  She'd do it if she could catch _him_.  It was her turn to sigh.  She'd probably regret not having enough time to think it over later.  Fuck later.

            "I'll do it," She said.  "Show me the body." 

            Crawford lead them stairs.  Shelby's face was blank, but behind her eyes her brain was spinning.  Clarice's anticipation was getting the better of her, and she climbed the stairs quietly, in introspection.

            The reached the hallway of Graham's apartment.  The volume of sound seemed lowered for Clarice; hushed.  It was almost as if she had water in her ears.  She only heard the echoes of their footsteps on the cold stairs.  In front of them now, was a double door.  There was a window in each, and they peered though.  Several men in police uniforms, and several BSU officials.    

            Crawford held the door for them, but did not make a move to come in himself.  His voice broke her hushed sense. His voice was clearer than before.  "I've gotta go talk with the locals a little more."

            Shelby and Clarice nodded.  _Bastard.  Make us go in alone._  Clarice thought bitterly.

            Clarice walked down the hall until she reached the room the officers stood outside.  They simply stared blankly at her.  "I'm Clarice Starling."  She held up her badge.  "I'd like to look at the scene."

            They nodded and moved aside and out of the room.  That was better; she preferred not to be watched when she worked a case this…personal.  _Personal?  What makes it personal, Starling? Maybe I shouldn't be working this case…_

_            Oh stop it, Starling._  Shelby followed her into the apartment.  

            The first room in the apartment was the kitchen.  Starling gasped unintentionally.

            On the tile floor of the kitchen, lying in a purple crimson puddle of blood, was a man.  Shelby trembled.  He was lying on his stomach; the ripped flannel shirt he was wearing, exposed to the air.  Blood was all over.  

            Clarice sensed struggle.  The metallic, sticky smell of blood stung her nostrils.  She turned to Shelby who glanced nervously at Clarice.  She breathed out.

            "Ready?"

            A few hours later, Clarice Starling walked to her car calmly.  The Lecter case file in her arm, tugged close to her, it had just started to drizzle.  

"Dammit," Someone behind her yelped.

            It was Shelby.  She was at a payphone a few feet away from Clarice's car.  She hung up angrily, and then looked ashamed in front of Clarice.

            "You okay?" Clarice asked.

            She looked uncomfortable.  "I called my roommate.  She said…she said they're going to have to fumigate in our apartment and I need to go get my stuff."  

            "Hey, well, that's too bad."  Clarice thought about it.  Ardelia probably wouldn't mind if Shelby stayed with them.  Besides, they could get more done together.  "You could stay with me.  We've got a guest room."

            Shelby brightened.  "Really?  That's really nice of you.  I really appreciate it!"  Clarice could tell the kid was being sincere.   "If you're not doing anything we could work on the case, if that'd be alright with you."

            "Sounds good."  Clarice said, smiling.  She gave Shelby directions to her house and drove off.

            Clarice had a few hours before Shelby would be over at her house.  She decided to go jogging.  She drove the almost two hours, with her windows up and her radio playing a tape.

            The voice she heard was clear in her voice and memories as well as the warm car's atmosphere.  _"No, it is your turn to tell me, Clarice…"_  All Clarice had wanted to do was burn these tapes.  Something had stopped her.  Hopefully they'd help her out this time around.

            It occurred to her that after Dr. Lecter had come after Will Graham, he might come after her.  _"No…he'd consider that 'rude'…"_

            She pulled into a Shell gas station at the tip of Virginia and got out of her car.  She was filling up on gas and she looked out to the road.  To her right was the bridge the led into Maryland.  Where she worked, where she has met Dr. Lecter, where she just saw Will Graham's dead body lying in the middle of his kitchen floor.

            To her left, across another bridge, was where she was lived until she was ten. West Virginia: her childhood, her daddy's grave, her accent, and where she had seen Buffalo Bill's third victim.  Kimberly.  Clarice wouldn't forget her name.

Behind her: Virginia.  There lay her home, where she had gone to school, and Quantico, where she had trained to become a warrior, even if she had been one long before that.

_Where'll I go next?_ Clarice wondered and she smiled weakly to herself.

Shelby arrived when she said she would.  Clarice showed her around the complex and Shelby thanked Clarice for letting her stay.

Starling liked the kid.  She was polite, but shy.  Clarice could understand that.  She knew that behind her nervous eyes there was something sparking.  Shelby reminded her of herself when she had just been a trainee.  

            Now, the two women are sitting in a pleasant living room.  It's 9:00.  Clarice is sitting Indian style on the floor elbows resting on the coffee table in front of her.  She is looking though a stack of Polaroids, studying each one intensely.  A strand of red hair that had come lose from her pulled up hair, also in a ponytail, fluttered onto her face and she ignored it. Papers and ugly pictures litter the couch and coffee table.  

Shelby has on a pair of headphones, and had her eyes closed.   She is also sitting Indian style on the couch.  She has her blonde hair in a ponytail.  They both wear flannel pajamas.  If one were concerned, they probably would have not known these two women were hard at work, chasing monsters, one in particular at the moment, though the mind's corridors.

            "Can you hand me that autopsy report right there?"  Clarice asked glancing up from the pictures and pointing to some sheets of paper stapled together on the on the couch the Shelby occupied.  Shelby's eyes blinked open.

            She nodded and complied.  She slid the headphones off and looked at her friend delicately.  "How's it going so far?"

            Clarice shrugged and said, "Nothing yet.  There's got to be something here."  She put the palm of her hand on her forehead and sighed.

            "You're straining your eyes. Here."  Shelby stood up on the couch, folding her legs underneath her and pushing herself up to stand. She hopped off onto the floor as gracefully as a cat.  She walked into the kitchen and disappeared for a few minutes.  Clarice looked after her and studied the Polaroids for the few minutes Shelby was gone. 

            When she came back, she carried a small tray with two coffee cups.  She sat the tray down on the table.  Clarice looked at them and back to her.  "Thank you, Shelby, but how's a cup of tea supposed to help my eyes?"

            Shelby smiled and chuckled.  "It's special tea," Clarice eyed Shelby hesitantly. "G'wan.  I brought it from my apartment. I hope you don't mind."  Clarice picked up a mug and took a sip.  It was good.  It was slightly spicy and made her feel warm.

            "Thanks.  It's spicy.  I have a feeling you'd like my roommate, Ardelia's cooking."  She said, and smiled slightly, wincing and remembering that Clarice had asked her to that party tonight. Shelby nodded, and took a sip of her own.

            Shelby picked up the stack of pictures from the coffee table and looked though them.  In the first picture was Will Graham lying on the tiled floor of his kitchen, his back facing in the shot.  She winced. Under him was the pool of blood. Three wide incisions were visible on the back: one at the bottom of the back, and one on each shoulder.  

Shelby, who had read the autopsy report, shuffled though the pictures until she came to another picture.  It was a close-up of the back of the man's neck.  It was so fine, she had to scan it three times before she found it.  A tiny needle had been injected at the base of the skull, paralyzing the victim.

_This one thinks we're stupid.  I learned about paralyzing frogs in high school biology.  I wonder if a frog will scream as loud as he did._

_Neighbors found him, dead it his apartment.  Had keys to apartment._  _Statement says they had heard screams._  Shelby highly doubted it was a neighbor._  No, this one is too careful._

She sighed.  She hated this.  She was learning not to treat Graham specially, and trying to treat him as a non-personal victim.  That was hard.  He'd saved her life.  But he had frightened her at the hospital when she was little.  Yelling and crying loudly; it had bugged her.  She wouldn't allow herself to treat him specially.

The idea that Crawford was testing her to see how well she could cope had occurred to her.  She didn't want to think that, but something about it nagged at her.  But no, Crawford was a good guy.  At least, he'd been one so far.  A decent man.

Clarice looked though the reports.  "The substance found on the wound…the lab should have it in the next half hour."

Shelby nodded.  A sticky substance has been found at one of the entrance wounds.  They were running all sorts of test on it at the lab.

The autopsy had been difficult.  She'd managed though.  It was hard to know that someone who saved your life when you were nine years old was lying dead on a table in front of you.  She'd only been allowed to observe.  She didn't have any medical background.

Shelby laughed suddenly.  She'd remembered something.

"What's so funny?"  Clarice asked, as if concerned her friend had snapped her sanity like a pencil under pressure.

She sighed.  "I remember meeting Dr. Lecter a long time ago."

"What?"

"I assume you've heard of Garrett Hobbs?  The first serial killer Graham arrested?"

Clarice's eyes widened with realization.  _Jesus fucking Christ!  _"You're…you're…"

"His daughter, yes."  Shelby's look turned serious.

_GOD JUST SMACK ME OVER THE HEAD BACKWARDS FOR NOT REALIZING IT. STUPID, STUPID, STUPID.  _Clarice mentally hit herself over and over again.  She stumbled over what to say.

"A while after I got out of the hospital, I had to go see him because he asked me to come talk to him.  I was…ten years old."

"Therapy?"

"No.  They weren't about my problems and he preferred not to call it that.  I guess I was too young to comprehend 'therapy', so we just talked about Graham.  I was well, traumatized.  I didn't feel like talking to anybody, but they made me go to Dr. Lecter," She paused.  "He asked me if I'd go talk to Graham, since he wasn't well."  She winced.

Clarice squinted.  "If Dr. Lecter cared so much about the guy, why'd he kill him?"

"Well, first off, we don't _know_ he's killed Graham."

            "Well, that's true."

            The phone rang, making them both jump.  Clarice looked at her caller I.D. Just Crawford.

            "Starling."  She answered.

            "Starling…we've identified the substance on the victim."  Crawford's voice was startlingly alive.

            "What is it, sir?"

            "Hannibal Lecter's saliva.  He must have licked the knife or something."

            Clarice's eyes widened.  "Or he could have stabbed him and licked off what was on it."  She whispered into the phone.

            After a few moments she hung up and turned to Shelby who was starring expectantly at her.  "_Now_ we know it's Dr. Lecter."

            Well guys?  What do you think?  Terrible parts?  Yes, the timeline for Hobbs is somewhat off.  You'll see why I have to do that…eventually.  *evil laugh*  Share your constructive criticisms!  Please?  Please Review.  


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